


Bath

by Toomanyfandoms99



Series: Skybridger Word Generator Prompts [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Garel, Hurt/Comfort, Imperial AU (Star Wars), Injury Recovery, Inquisitor Ezra Bridger, M/M, Major Character Injury, Sensuality, Serious Injuries, Sith Luke Skywalker, Star Destroyer Executor (Star Wars), Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 13:21:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30089727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toomanyfandoms99/pseuds/Toomanyfandoms99
Summary: Luke approaches the door to the bedroom.  Keying in the code, the double-fortified durasteel slides open.  The light from his private fresher casts the room in shadows and glows.As he steps inside, the door behind him seals shut.  His gaze swipes from the open fresher to the presence on the bed.A body shifts out of a criss-cross position.  Eyes closed in meditation gleam calico: one fiery amber, the other ashen sapphire.“I sensed your pain,” he says.
Relationships: Ezra Bridger/Luke Skywalker
Series: Skybridger Word Generator Prompts [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980082
Comments: 11
Kudos: 26





	Bath

**Author's Note:**

> *drops fic and hides*

Steam escapes the shuttle as it docks on the Executor. Luke’s head has throbbed since the Rebel incursion on Garel. The Rebel Jedi proved to be skilled in both evasion tactics and getting his scum allies to safety. 

Luke must admit: landing blows on him was a feat, since his power far surpassed others of his endangered kind. The Fifth Brother and Seventh Sister were weaklings in comparison.

The platform extends from the shuttle onto the main docking bay. Luke tears off and throws the helmet that conceals his identity from outsiders, sensing a cut near his eye. Luke’s wounds burn as he forces himself up from his seat. The grazes across his body were too numerous to count, especially after they exploded his TIE. Luke was in for it enough as it is without the knowledge that his beloved TIE fighter is a scrap heap on Garel’s surface.

He unclasps his body armor, titanium plates falling in pieces on the chair. Armor removed and robes tattered, Luke nonetheless descends the ramp with poise. His temple throbs at the familiarity of two Force sensitives on the Star Destroyer. One he would be happy to see, but the other...not so much.

Luke reaches the greeting party. Admiral Piett is chief among the stormtroopers. His waterlogged eyes are cast partially downwards, a sign of fear and respect. 

If all else fails, Luke would sense both of those feelings in abundance.

“Grand Inquisitor,” Admiral Piett addresses, “Lord Vader would like to see you immediately.”

Luke’s wounds scream; not even the Dark Side will permanently patch them.

He hums in consideration. He raises his gaze to the pointed gray hat on Piett’s head. “I don’t think so, Admiral.”

He enjoys when they gawk, when weak men like Piett quake and stutter. “B-but, S-Sir!”

“Lord Vader can wait,” Luke says smoothly. He nudges his head to a stormtrooper. “You. Inform Lord Vader that I’ll be with him when I,” he emphasizes, “am available.”

Before Luke can savor the disbelief, begrudging acceptance, and eventual strangling of the stormtrooper, his robes sweep down the onyx pathway. Every officer and stormtrooper salutes as Luke’s robes swish past them.

He stalks the hallways of his father’s starship, pinpointing the location of the second Force sensitive inside the Executor. To his delight, his lover is waiting inside Luke’s room.

Picking up his pace, Luke winds the hallways to the back of the Executor. A twinge when he passes his father’s chambers threatens to overtake his mind, but he does not halt in his step.

Luke approaches the door to the bedroom. Keying in the code, the double-fortified durasteel slides open. The light from his private fresher casts the room in shadows and glows.

As he steps inside, the door behind him seals shut. His gaze swipes from the open fresher to the presence on the bed.

A body shifts out of a criss-cross position. Eyes closed in meditation gleam calico: one fiery amber, the other ashen sapphire.

“I sensed your pain,” he says. 

In their months by each other’s side, Luke has noticed the differences in his tone. While both were not considered mature yet, his lover’s voice had changed from snarky to contemplative. Due to his training, his mental age is beyond his physical years, the same as Luke.

He slips off the duvet. He steps away from the shadows. “I drew you a bath,” his eyes glitter as his copper face comes into full view, “the water should still be hot.”

Amber and sapphire trail down to the shreds in Luke’s Inquisitor robes. His breath catches. Concern is a wave across their bond, heady and passionate.

“Come,” he walks towards the illuminated doorway, holding out his hand, “I’m here.”

The statement is packed with such gentleness that Luke closes his eyes for a moment. His wounds teem furiously across all six of his heightened senses. He uses his lover’s worry as a balm, soaking the deep cuts in freshwater.

Opening his eyes, headache clearing room for his thoughts, Luke enters the fresher. The tub is filled halfway, bottles of scented oils lined up on the ledge. The water is scented and decorated with petals from Queen’s Heart flowers. They were a difficult plant to acquire on Naboo, but the Emperor was generous in his gifts, especially for his apprentice’s son. 

Ezra is particularly beautiful in this form of light. Warm and golden, enhancing his skin as well as his Force presence. He often tells Luke he looks even more bright, but Luke doesn’t see it.

He kneels by the tub and dips a finger in the water. It ripples upon contact, petals wavering in their dazed float.

Lifting the finger, Ezra reports, “yes, still hot.” He rises to his feet smoothly, skirting away from the space. “I’ll leave you to-”

“No,” Luke says impulsively, “stay.”

Ezra bristles, then freezes. His gaze remains on Luke. Hesitant.

Luke finds he cannot bring himself to rescind the request. Shoulders drooping, his fingers loosen the tight sashes holding his Grand Inquisitor uniform together. The neckline gives way, slipping over his shoulders. The wraps unfold from his body and slip downwards. 

Stepping away from the pool of fabric, Luke emerges naked and bleeding. He purses his lips at his own reflection. 

A cut on his brow splits the soft blonde hairs; potential for scarring. The crash formed deep purple bruises on his jaw, shoulder, and ribs. Debris from inside the TIE took a chunk out of his opposite thigh. Scrapes matted dirt across his torso and probably his back as well. Rivers of blood clot and fester. A rush of dizziness assaults Luke once the picture of himself is fully formed. It is far worse than he imagined. 

He’s going to kill every last fucking Rebel in existence. 

As Luke’s lip curls into a snarl, the sound of water sloshing captures his interest instead.

Ezra had stripped silently, dark clothing piled on the ground beside Luke’s. Ezra kneels inside the half-filled tub, settling in a calm crouch. Examining the contents of the ledge, he plucks a bottle of body oil. He uncaps it, sending a test spritz into the room. The scent of meilooruns fills the air.

When his lover notes Luke’s attention on him, calico eyes hold playfulness. Ezra smiles.

Luke grows wary. Is Ezra truly undeterred by Luke’s appearance?

Curious, Luke advances forward. Ezra does not break contact with him. In fact, his smile grows wider. Affectionate.

Placing one leg in the unoccupied side of the tub, the heat instantly soothes a graze above his ankle. Luke emits a little sigh at the relief it gives him.

Breathing deeply, he senses Ezra in the Force. He offers Luke a balm, a spiritual as well as a physical soak. Luke couldn’t refuse such an invitation.

Luke’s other leg shifts inside the tub. He lowers himself down, leaning against the curve as he slips below. After stretching his legs around the sides, leaving room for Ezra, the waterline skirts to his midriff. 

The soothing manner of the liquid, as well as Ezra’s attentive expression, is similar to curling up in bed beside him, a mountain of covers swathing them in warmth and protection.

Tipping his head back, Luke closes his eyes. His hair, covered in a thick layer of dirt, presses against the curved side of the tub. He sighs, releasing the tension of today’s events from his body. Relaxation arrives as the water brings with it the scent of flower petals. He inhales deeply, then exhales into the Force.

There is a light splash from the other side of the tub. An object bobs on the surface, lifted up and towards him.

A sponge makes contact with Luke’s chest. Soap bubbles against grimy skin. Ezra pauses.

Raising a hand from the water, Luke finds Ezra’s arm, touching it. He strokes from elbow to wrist, lifting his finger pads away abruptly. 

Ezra understands, as he always does, and begins rubbing at Luke’s front with the sponge. Rough enough to remove the dirt, but gentle enough to mind the cuts. 

As Ezra tends to him, he also sends an invitation through the Force. He asks about what happened. Not forcing him to reply, but hoping that he will.

Luke flits across the bond that exists between them, the bond formed and strengthened entirely on its own as soon as his father presented Maul’s apprentice to him. One look was all Luke needed to see the beauty hidden within Ezra, hidden deep enough that Maul couldn’t recognize his own apprentice’s uniqueness to the Force. 

It is why Father had Maul...liberated.

Ezra’s attunement to the Light and the Dark Side, an equal split, aided the Empire in every way. His magnetism garnered Luke’s immediate attention. A fist clutching his chest, never letting him regain his breath.

As Luke studies the inner workings of his lover’s thoughts, an anvil fires up with heat, enough to burn any skin that touches the metal. 

Ezra is simmering with anger. He keeps it contained in favor of Luke, but it is there, a white hot supernova.

His lover wanted revenge. It is a sight so dazzling that Luke could weep.

Luke can read Ezra’s innermost thoughts, his lover’s imagination igniting a red lightsaber. Ezra thinks of storming a Rebel base, of striking down all those who hurt Luke. 

He chooses not to remark verbally. He focuses on answering Ezra’s question.

Luke sends Ezra images from the battle. His TIE fighter swept across Garel to heavy fire. The Rebel Jedi is fierce in his counterattack, using his blue lightsaber to down Luke’s starship. He barely climbed out and escaped to a shuttle before he was being pursued by the people that Ezra once trusted with his life.

When Luke stops, Ezra pauses in his task. He had bent Luke’s knees, moving his lower legs about so he could wash them properly. Luke pliantly followed Ezra’s prompts without thinking about it.

Finally opening his eyes, Luke tips his neck downwards. His head is cradled in the curve of the tub, but he sighs at the still-present throbbing in his mind. A slice of dulled pain spears across his eyes, but his vision soon sharpens on its own. It’s quite possible that he sustained more damage than was visible on his body.

Fucking Rebels.

Ezra shifts in the tub, noting Luke’s headache. He finally processes the information delivered through their Force bond. He raises his arm from the water, two fingers outstretched. The fingers halt an inch from Luke’s forehead.

Luke nods. Ezra’s finger pads press between Luke’s parted bangs. A flood of relief washes away roadblocks and barricades. In less than a minute, Luke can think clearly again.

The fingers are removed from his forehead. Luke lifts his gaze up to Ezra. He nudges out a question with a bat of his lashes.

Ezra scoots closer, body nestled between Luke’s submerged legs. His lips part, wide eyes skirting across Luke’s weary face. Holding his breath, Luke awaits his lover’s words.

“Anyone who hurts you,” Ezra says with conviction, “is my kill.”

Luke’s chest collapses. The energy between what little space separates them charges. Ezra is drawn to it, eyes drawn to his lips.

And Ezra isn’t one for hesitating when he wants something. He snatches it.

Luke sighs as Ezra overwhelms him. Water sloshes as their bodies rub together, mouths meeting fervently. Ezra is hungry, sucking on Luke’s lips, asking for so much of him that Luke gives it all away. 

Ezra is getting comfortable on his lap, Luke stroking Ezra’s long hair, when a holo recorder chimes in the bathroom.

Luke growls and parts harshly enough to bruise Ezra’s mouth. His lover clenches his teeth, gaze darting murderously towards the device.

He forgot about the holo recorder strapped to his robes. The red blinking light on the microphone stands out amongst the ripped dark fabric puddled on the tile.

The device is suddenly floating. A low growl resounds in the back of his lover’s throat. Based on Ezra’s profile, Luke notes he is restraining himself from crushing the recorder into a ball.

Luke’s swollen lip catches on Ezra’s jawline. His lover releases the attack dog posture, slouching into Luke’s arms. Boiling ire lowers in temperature.

Turning his attention to the holo recorder, Luke sends it over to his open palm. His elbow slings over the edge of the tub, upper arm bringing the microphone to his face. Since he didn’t want to project an image by accident, he flicks on the audio only function.

“What?” Luke hisses.

“Don’t you take that tone with me, son,” Father scolds. “You knew to report to my office as soon as you arrived.”

“Too bad,” Luke’s free hand skirts up Ezra’s side, causing his lover to preen deeper into his embrace, “consider it a lesson in patience, Father.”

Ezra’s lips kiss Luke’s throat. He refrains from laughing breathily; Ezra knows it’s his sweet spot.

Father growls, but he does not protest the action. Whether he senses Luke’s pain or remains numb to anything but his own, patience is still a virtue.

“I expect Bridger to be present in the training room at oh-five-hundred,” Father gripes.

He ends the transmission abruptly. Luke expects his father will stew for the rest of the night on the opposite side of the Star Destroyer. Not his problem.

Luke shuts off the device and drops it somewhere on the tile. Ezra’s head rises from Luke’s neck, though hangs lower than Luke’s eye level.

Desire is replaced by concern. Luke wants to whine at the change in his lover’s mindset.

“I think you’ll need bacta patches overnight,” Ezra examines the cuts and bruises in his sights, “but before that, hair?”

Luke contemplates. Ezra looks truly worried about his wounds. He supposes the faster they’re healed, the better Ezra will feel. 

So Luke murmurs, “I’ll wash my hair. You can get the patches.”

Ezra rises from Luke’s lap. Streaks of water slip down and crash around the tub. As his body is revealed, Luke has to bite his lip; it wouldn’t be good for either of them if Luke pulled Ezra back down to him.

Stepping out of the tub and drying himself quickly, Ezra pads into the bedroom. Instead of eyeing Ezra, Luke shakes his head and sighs. 

He drains the dirty bath water and refills it for a better soak. Holding his breath, Luke dunks his head. He waits submerged for a full minute, enjoying the silence now that his head no longer hurts.

Coming up for air, Luke smooths back his wet hair. He uses the Force to bring a towel into his hand. He dries his face and squeezes out his feathery hair.

Ezra returns in a gold-trimmed apprentice robe and holding a medkit. The dark silk clings to him in such a way that he must not be wearing anything else underneath it.

A breath caught in Luke’s throat takes considerable effort to release.

Kneeling beside the tub, the medkit is set on the tile. Ezra unwraps patches of several different shapes and sizes, absorbed in his task.

Luke blinks to recover, then drains the rest of the bath water. He watches it sink below decks until a slurp resounds from the open drain.

Turning towards the side of the tub, Ezra holds out a towel. Luke stands shakily and dries himself, wrapping it around his hips.

Ezra now stands near the sink mirror, bacta patches ready on the counter. Luke sighs and approaches. He grasps a head towel and scrubs at his wet hair to distract himself.

With limited movement, Ezra manages to patch Luke’s larger wounds with bacta. The medicine makes Luke instantly sluggish. The weight of his exhaustion hits him for the first time. 

And Ezra senses it right away.

Ezra stands behind him and touches Luke’s shoulders. His posture slackens with a sigh, hands leaving his hair.

“Let me,” his lover says gently.

Luke nods as Ezra fixes his matted wet hair. He doesn’t even so much as fidget as Ezra blow dries the hair, combs it, and fluffs it. Ezra’s touches soothe him into a genuine state of calm, a massage, by the time it is done.

Ezra soon leaves him to pick up and discard Luke’s ruined robes. He also cleans up the mess in the bathroom while Luke chooses sleep robes to wear.

Once the silver-trimmed black clothes were fastened, Ezra shuts off the lights. He leaves a lamp on to cast a very dim glow on the bed.

At that, Ezra returns where Luke found him, perched criss-cross near the pillows. The sheets are untucked for Luke’s arrival as he approaches.

Mindful of the bacta patches, Luke slides under the covers. Ezra joins him, turning over to one side to examine his discomfort.

Once Luke at last finds a suitable position, Ezra curls up and kisses his cheek. His mind prods at Luke, asking if he needs help falling asleep through shared meditation. While Luke would normally decline, he nods once in affirmation.

As Ezra settles into a state of calm to match Luke’s, he murmurs, “thank you.”

Ezra is silent as the weight of Luke’s words fully absorbs. His nose presses on Luke’s jaw, giving way to a smile.

“I love you,” Ezra breathes into Luke’s skin, dismissing his thanks, “and in time, vengeance will be mine.”

The vow is enough to make Luke expel tears of joy. He meets Ezra’s calico eyes in the shadows instead. 

“I love you too,” Luke whispers.

Their eyes shut. They cozy up to one another, falling into the Force.

With Ezra’s help, Luke is asleep in minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> *pokes out head* I was very nervous to post this one. Let me know what you thought.


End file.
